Page 13 of The Incendiary

I could tell he wanted to protest, but he mercifully refrained.

Minutes later, Damond and I stood in front of the mirror, stunned at the person staring back at us. Her shoulder-length hair was black as night, her eyes a swirling cerulean blue. I kept my pale skin tone, but my freckles were much darker. No part of me felt different.

My scars were covered up because I couldn’t risk anyone seeing them and guessing at who I was. I had four of them. The claw mark on my right collarbone where Molochai had impaled me with his talons. The long, jagged tear down my front from his blade. And the faded gash over my heart, where Molochai had stabbed me as an infant four centuries ago. Finally, there was a long scar over the center of my pelvis. I’d been told a growth had been removed, but I hadn’t forgotten Gavin’s bewildered reaction to it.

Damond squeezed my shoulders, mercifully pulling me back to the present.

I cleared my throat. “Do I still look like me?”

“Yes. Just a bit more… vicious. Seductive, maybe.” He admired me with an unobtrusive gaze. “But also a little scary.”

My laugh sounded displaced coming from my altered face in the mirror. “Good.”

Damond had never made me feel desired in any way. I appreciated that more than he likely realized. He was a haven for the part of me that was confused about what, or who, I wanted.

“Do you think he’d recognize me?” My barely whispered words made me wince. I shouldn’t care, but I did.

Damond’s laughter eased the nervous tension. “That man would recognize you covered in shit with a sack over your head.”

My immediate laughter faded at the sight of the thin metal chain disappearing beneath the neck of my shirt. Attached were two silver rings. One large and tarnished, the other delicate, barely worn, covered with intricate vines.

I kept those rings together and couldn’t bring myself to take them off. They were a part of me, whether I wanted them to be or not.

Damond and I avoided our goodbyes until we stood in the dense forest south of the cabin. Sunlight scattered through the budding canopy of oaks and maples, sprinkling warmth over my skin. The temperatures in northern Avendrel were moderate, but it was still early spring, and the heat was more than welcome.

“We should part ways here,” I declared, forcing myself to sound brave.

Damond watched as I counted each of the blades on my hip, my fingers lingering on the hilt of the centuries-old dagger Gavin gave me. The dagger I used to make my first kill.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying not to recall the Insidion’s silent plea during his final moments. I never wanted to kill again, though I knew I would have to.

“I’ll see you again?” I asked Damond.

“Yes.” Concern tainted his typically bright and calm expression. “You keep yourself alive. I’ll do the same.”

My bag’s strap slid over the shoulders of my jacket, into which I’d sewn a black wool hood to shield me from the early spring chill. With her snout, Shera gently nudged me southward, but my feet felt trapped in the muddy earth. When Damond let loose a tear, I lost control of my own and threw my arms around him. He held me tight and cupped the back of my head. Moments later, still sniffling, I forced myself to withdraw.

“Thank you, Damond.” Hopefully my gratitude was clear on my face, because I knew my words weren’t adequate to convey it. “Thank you for everything.”

His warm smile told me he understood. “It’s been an honor, Your Highness.” He smirked when I scoffed. He knew I hated being called that, especially by friends.

“Goodbye for now,” I croaked, turning to go.

“For now,” he agreed. “And Ary?”

I turned back to see his twinkling brown eyes watching me, strong and sure. Just like someone else we knew. “You know exactly who you are.”

FIVE

ARYELLA

Molochai’s beasts were once instinctive and free, now corrupted with an unnatural darkness they can’t understand or escape. My lingering suspicion is that only you can break the bonds that tie them.

I know the feeling all too well.

—FROM THE BUTCHER OF NYRIDA’S LAST KNOWN LETTERS TO QUEEN ARYELLA I

By nightfall, Shera and I were hours ahead of schedule. We camped beneath a small alcove worn into a moss-covered cliff and were lulled to sleep by the rushing waterfall below. The next morning, we woke before sunrise and, once Shera was finished with her hunt, continued south.